


You Fit Me Better (Than My Favourite Sweater)

by smoulderandbraids



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 20:39:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18106058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoulderandbraids/pseuds/smoulderandbraids
Summary: “I’m not going to be able to do it like you did,” Patrick says, dropping to his knees and easing David’s underwear off.“Okay,” David says, because his brain hasn’t caught up to this. Patrick, his sweet, responsible maybe-boyfriend on his knees for him like he’s got some kind of plan. David has learned to have a healthy respect for Patrick’s plans. They’re usually very effective.ORDavid and Patrick's first time, set after 4.01 and before 4.02.





	You Fit Me Better (Than My Favourite Sweater)

David never thought he’d set foot in another motel. He really never thought he’d be in another motel and happy about it. Upon consideration, maybe happy isn’t exactly the word for what he’s feeling. He’s watching the scattered raindrops that have soaked into the shoulders of Patrick’s button down as he checks them into the Mapleview motel. Patrick is acting far too normal in David’s opinion. As if this is something they’ve done together before, or something he does all the time. 

Maybe the word that David is looking for is satisfied, because the dinner they had in Elmdale was actually good. David definitely ate four pieces of the complimentary focaccia without qualms before even ordering. But in all ways besides the gastronomical, David isn’t satisfied. Not yet anyway. Not in the least. 

There’s something foreboding to what David is feeling too. There’s a tension to his mood and not just from the raging evening thunderstorm that neither or he or Patrick were particularly keen to drive back to town in. He supposes he shouldn’t be feeling unsettled, since Patrick’s the one who drove and Patrick’s the one who suggested getting a room to “wait the storm out”. Whatever that even means. 

David has never been good at distinguishing between anxiety and excitement, so he wonders if what he’s feeling is anticipation. He looked up all the motels nearby and this one had far and away the best reviews. David knows exactly what to look for now. He’s practically a motel expert. By circumstance only, of course. Not by choice. So it’s possible that anticipation is what’s making him feel all fluttery, watching Patrick and the way his just-damp shirt pulls over his shoulders as he checks them in to what should be a thoroughly unobjectionable motel. Which is really all you can hope for in a motel. David has much higher hopes for those rain-speckled shoulders and their owner. 

“Ready?” Patrick says. He turns to face David, finished with the check-in and brandishing an actual key like it the 70s or something. He’s smiling, but there’s an nervous edge to it. Like maybe he’s feeling some anticipation too. 

“I left all my luggage in the other car, actually.” David says, on reflex. He can’t help making the effort to get Patrick to smile properly. It means a lot to David that Patrick’s smiling when he reaches out to take David’s hand and pull him in the direction of the rooms. 

David can tell it’s a nice room as soon as Patrick opens the door. He still takes the comforter off the bed immediately just to be safe. Once that crucial task has been accomplished, he looks up. Patrick is watching him with an expression David might dare to call fond. His eyes are a little darker than usual and it hits David like a clap of thunder. He has no idea what his own face is doing at the moment, but he hopes it’s not too embarrassing. 

The room is startlingly quiet, save for noise of the storm outside. It’s suddenly obvious that they’re truly alone together with the whole night ahead of them. It’s enough that David needs to sit down on the now-acceptable bed. It’s pleasantly springy and comfortably firm. Good to know. 

“So what do you plan on doing until the weather gods stop screwing around?” David asks, because he needs to know what Patrick is thinking and he has to say something halfway normal before he blurts out something wild, like Do you even know how good you look? It’s entirely possible that Patrick knows exactly how good he looks. David is really trying to avoid sounding as desperate as he feels. 

Patrick walks over to sit with him, casual and unhurried in a way that makes David entirely too warm. Even in his rain-dampened sweatshirt.

“Oh, I have some ideas.” 

Patrick's voice is steady and full of promise. He’s sitting close enough that their thighs are touching and it’s nothing at all for David to lay a hand on the back of his neck and lean in to kiss him. It’s gentle and David draws it out long and slow into something tender. He means it to be soothing, but it’s just making him hotter and eager to take more liberties. He pulls back for a moment to collect himself, for his own peace of mind, but Patrick’s kissing him again not a second later. His hands are warm and heavy on David’s waist, very much trying to pull him closer and keep him there. David knows Patrick can be ambitious, but any closer and he’ll be in Patrick’s lap. Which is a deeply intriguing thought for another time.

Presently, David thinks it’s best if he follows his heart and lets his hands drift down to start unbuttoning Patrick’s shirt. The fabric is crisp and cool under his fingers. Basic, but still nice quality and David doesn’t think it will watermark from the rain. He wonders if Patrick wore it for him, possibly imagining this exact scenario. David’s thought about taking Patrick to bed plenty of times, but his mind has never been able to provide sufficient detail. He couldn’t have imagined how thrilling it is to let Patrick kiss him like he’s never going to stop, while David finally gets to press his palm flat against Patrick's bare chest and feel the heat of him and his too-fast heartbeat. It's a reminder that even though Patrick knows how to kiss (really knows how to kiss, David's never felt so well-kissed), he's probably never been with a guy before. Which is both terrifying and exciting because god are there things that David wants to show him. 

Patrick presses a final kiss to David’s neck and looks up at him. He looks just the tiniest bit lost and David instantly wants to ease whatever’s on his mind. 

"Are you okay there?" David asks, tracing lazy featherlight patterns over Patrick's collarbone. 

"Yeah, I'm---" Patrick pauses and breathes out audibly, shrugs off his very open shirt and discards it. "I'm good."

"Okay,” David says, moving his hand to trace over Patrick’s other collarbone. "Because if you are I'm going to start taking my clothes off."

"Then I definitely am." Patrick says, with an assurance that makes David shivery all over. He doesn't know how Patrick does that, how he makes David feel like the most desirable version of himself all the time. 

David doesn’t have any pesky buttons so it’s simple for him to pull off his designer sweatshirt and drape it gently over the nightstand. When he turns back, the way Patrick’s looking at him almost makes him want to put it back on. David isn't used to feeling seen with his partners. He isn't used to the single-minded intention that Patrick is looking at him with.

"You're fucking gorgeous." Patrick says, so quietly David almost doesn't hear him. He registers the words, but the way Patrick is mapping his torso with his fingertips seems much more pressing. His hands come to rest teasingly low on the small of David’s back. David kisses him again before Patrick can say anything else of the sort. 

David isn't so careful this time and kisses Patrick like he really wants to. He relishes how deeply Patrick kisses him back and how he gets bolder in exploring the long muscles of David's back and the curve of his ass. David decides that truly, enough is enough, and deftly unfastens Patrick’s belt in one move. You don't spend five years in New York without picking up a few tricks. He focuses on kissing Patrick while he works his fly open and lets Patrick's pants slide down his thighs. He palms the hot ridge of Patrick's cock through his boxer briefs and spares a quick moment to thank the motel gods that the floors looked clean when they came in, before dropping to his knees.

"Fuck," Patrick says, eloquently. David doesn't think he's ever heard him swear so much. Twice in a matter of minutes. It's very gratifying

David knows a blowjob is a blowjob, but he also knows it’ll be different for Patrick to see David’s shoulders between his legs and not long hair and tits and general femaleness. So he takes his time kissing Patrick’s thighs and scraping his stubble over the soft, secret skin there. He knows Patrick’s skin marks easily and he wonders if Patrick would object to a hickey here as fervently as he does to those in more visible areas. He presses a hand to Patrick’s erection through his underwear again and sets about kissing the line of his hipbone. Patrick’s beautifully responsive, all half-voiced expletives and hands fisted in the sheets as David teases him. He doesn’t bother slipping his thumbs into the waist of Patrick’s underwear until he’s curling his fingers in David’s hair and asking for it. 

Patrick moans when David takes him in hand and sets up a slow, steady rhythm, deviating occasionally to run his thumb over the slick precome at the head and cup his balls. David wants to get his mouth on him. He wants to taste him and see what uncharacteristically irresponsible noise Patrick makes when he does. Patrick looks down at him and shudders, lips parted like he can’t find the words he wants. 

“You know,” David says, like there’s any way Patrick’s hearing him right now. “I count myself lucky that I got to you before you ever set foot in a gay bar. You’d be beating admirers off with a stick.”

There’s a pretty pink flush creeping into Patrick’s cheeks and down his neck. David doesn’t know if it’s from the compliment or the handjob, but it’s not like he cares. 

“I’m not joking.” David says, twisting his wrist on the downstroke and feeling Patrick’s cock pulse in his grip. “You’d have guys lining up to do this for you.”

“David,” Patrick says, hoarse, and his fingers tighten on David’s shoulders. “You’re fucking killing me here. C’mon.” 

And because David loves Patrick and his ridiculous manners, he takes Patrick in his mouth as deep as he can, selfishly enjoying how loud Patrick gets when he swallows around him. It’s nice to know he hasn’t lost this particular skill since leaving New York. 

He doesn’t think Patrick’s going to last so he pulls out all the stops, doesn’t bother keeping up the teasing from earlier. Soon enough Patrick is tugging at his hair, telling David that fuck he’s close and what is he even doing to him and David commits to his present course of action. He takes Patrick in as far as he can and lets him feel the tightness of his throat around the head of his erection, lets Patrick thrust into his mouth until he comes, far too loud and with David’s name on his lips. 

David swallows because Patrick deserves a perfect blowjob, and because it’s by far the least messy option. He only has the chance to place one quick kiss on Patrick’s now-sweaty hip before Patrick’s pulling him up insistently to lie on the bed with him so he can kiss David for all he’s worth. David thinks it’s to his credit. He’s slept with enough not-so-straight guys who thought kissing after blowjobs was a no-go. 

“You’re so good at that.” Patrick says. His voice is deeper than usual, with a tinge of appreciation that makes David want to preen a little. 

“I’ve done a lot of things with people who weren’t necessarily into me for my sparkling personality.” David says. It’s not like it’s news to either of them. 

Patrick presses a kiss to David’s neck and pulls him closer. He pets David lazily, stroking over his chest and his ribs and finally sliding a hand under the waistband of his pants. They’re jogger-style Diesels, which is the only reason David’s been able to keep them on for so long. He hisses a little when Patrick strokes his erection through his underwear, gingerly at first and then more firmly when David presses into his touch. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you be this patient,” Patrick says, apparently recovered enough from his orgasm to sass David. “I’m trying to think of a time, but I can’t.” 

“Whatever.” David says, and pulls Patrick into a kiss. He was already half on top of David, so it’s easy to get him all the way there. David kisses him hungrily, arches up against the warmth of Patrick’s hand and the solidness of his weight on him. David’s missed that feeling a lot, so it’s terrible when Patrick rolls off him and sits up. It’s less terrible when Patrick tells him to get his pants off. David does and manages to step out of them cleanly, before Patrick stands and walks him back the two feet to the motel wall. 

‘What are you doing?” This isn’t in David’s first times playbook. Also, Patrick is right. David really can’t be patient anymore. It’s probably literally killing him. 

“I’m not going to be able to do it like you did,” Patrick says, dropping to his knees and easing David’s underwear off. 

“Okay,” David says, because his brain hasn’t caught up to this. Patrick, his sweet, responsible maybe-boyfriend on his knees for him like he’s got some kind of plan. David has learned to have a healthy respect for Patrick’s plans. They’re usually very effective. 

“You should tell me if I do something you don’t like.” Patrick says, as he takes David in hand and, like, fucking caresses him, before pressing a kiss to the head of his cock, his tongue flicking over it like the worst kind of tease. David tries to breathe through it, tries not to demand more, now, however the fuck Patrick wants to give it to him. 

Patrick takes him in slowly, so much so that David has to close his eyes and try to focus on not being an inconsiderate fuck. He knows he has no chance if he watches Patrick and his pink mouth and his eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks while he tries to get his mouth to meet his hand where it’s firm around the base of David’s cock. David thinks he might just do it. Definitely with practice. 

Then Patrick starts sucking, and all of David’s hard-fought patience is gone. He can’t help the moan he lets out, can’t help fucking into Patrick’s mouth a tiny bit, even though he’s trying to be careful not to make him choke. David needs Patrick to like this, needs him to want to do it again and again and again. Patrick rests his forearm against David’s hips with just enough pressure to hold him down. It just makes David harder. He moans again and Patrick mmms around his cock, just enough vibration to make David shiver. 

“I might have been wrong before.” David says, because talking is the last tool he has to distract himself and make this last. “You’d have guys at the bar lining up to fuck your mouth, not the other way around. Oh my god. Fuck, Patrick, I think about your mouth all the time. Ever since I kissed you in the car that first time. I knew you’d be good at this.”

Patrick pulls away, replacing the rhythm of his soft mouth with his hand, tight and slick. David knows he’s going to lose it when Patrick looks up at him, looking exactly like he’s been sucking dick and enjoying the hell out of it, and smiles. 

David comes harder than he remembers in a long time. He feels a little weak in the knees, but that’s not a problem with Patrick’s forearm still firm across his hips and the wall at his back. He’s made an absolute mess of Patrick’s hand and he just about dies when Patrick locks eyes with him and licks some of David’s come off his lower lip. He stands and kisses David, quickly, just the once.

“I’m going to clean up,” Patrick says, smooth and confident. “But you should get in bed. I’ll be there in a minute.” 

David definitely needs to lie down, so he takes him up on the very reasonable suggestion. True to his word, Patrick joins him in a moment. David thinks it’s another first, their first time naked under the sheets together. David is determined it’s going to be under nicer sheets next time. He cuddles up to Patrick anyways, enjoying the contact and how Patrick’s chest makes an excellent pillow. 

“I can’t believe you implied I’d get gangbanged if I showed up to a gay bar,” Patrick says, stroking David’s side. “During our first time.”

“I stand by my assessment.” David says, with all the nonchalance of knowing it’s a moot point because he got to Patrick first and doesn't have to worry about it. “If you ever want to go to a gay bar, you should take me with you. Or I can take you in Toronto. Not that there’s any need. I could take you other places where you probably won’t get propositioned by strangers.”

“So thoughtful of you.”

“I’m very thoughtful.”

“You think a lot.” 

“I’m very thoughtful,” David says, turning so Patrick can see his face of outrage. 

“You have a lot of thoughts.”

Patrick kisses him before he can retort. David probably shouldn’t encourage the habit, but like hell is he going to stop him. 

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The morning is still and beautiful, one of those blue sky high pressure system days you sometimes get after storms. The sun is pleasantly warm when Patrick goes out to get coffee and scones, leaving David asleep. After a night like that Patrick thinks he’d be giddy even if there was a hurricane. It took him several minutes to disentangle himself from David this morning. Mostly because he didn’t want to wake David up at what he’s sure would be an unforgivably early hour, but partly because he wanted to savour the moment. David is a stealth cuddler. It’s unexpected and delightful. 

He doesn’t see David when he returns twenty minutes later with coffee and scones in tow. He had half a hope David might still be in bed. The washroom door is closed and Patrick can hear the shower running. He thinks about joining him, but he knows David isn’t a morning person and he doesn’t know how David’s feeling this particular morning. Especially before coffee. And they do have to get back to the store. 

Patrick settles into a chair to wait and busies himself trying a scone. They’re buttery and perfectly sweet, studded with tart blueberries that taste as fresh as they should this time of year. Patrick is pretty sure he’d be pleased about eating cardboard with how over the moon he’s feeling this morning. Nevertheless, he thinks David will like them. The true judge of taste that he is. 

David emerges from the bathroom, disappointingly already dressed. He runs his fingers through his damp hair, presumably in search of greater volume. 

“Hey there,” Patrick says, trying not to sound mushy and like he’s been up for three hours already, full of emotion and energy. He fails utterly. 

“Hi,” David says, eyes flicking down to look at the aromatic paper bag on the table and the large takeout coffee cup. “You got breakfast?” 

“I did,” Patrick says, standing because he can’t wait until after breakfast to kiss David hello. He needs the reassurance. 

David kisses him back, warm and inviting and no different than any other time. It’s a relief. 

“Mmmmm, after coffee.” David says, squeezing Patrick for a second and letting go. Patrick mind-over-matters his way to releasing the hand he’s fisted in David’s sweater. He sits again and takes a sip of his coffee, resolutely not thinking about anything too embarrassing or arousing. Baseball stats and tax codes. That should keep him calm enough to let David eat. 

He tells David about the bakery, how they roast their own coffee and maybe it’d be something to look into carrying in the store. He doesn’t know if David’s listening, but that’s not really his goal in this conversation. He got their card. He can always give it to David later. 

“These are really good.” David says. “Thanks for picking them up.” 

“I’m glad you like them.”

“I can drive us back, if you want.” David offers, between bites of scone. 

“That’d be nice.” Patrick says, and thinks it’s downright thoughtful.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Blue Jeans" by Lana Del Rey.


End file.
